


Form Determines Function

by Vitreous_Humor



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Caretaking, Consensual Possession, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Possession, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: Well, apparently bodyswapping is a thing they can do now. Crowley has some very specific plans, Aziraphale discovers some plans of his  own.





	Form Determines Function

Aziraphale did not know how the demon did it. The legs on his body ate up distance at the most irregular pace, the senses were at once too sharp (scent and hearing) and not sharp enough (sight), and the idea of anything even vaguely interesting made the tongue want to flicker out in a manner that the body thought meant 'friendly curiosity' and which the average passerby found to be overtly threatening.*

*At best.

“Let's trade,” Crowley had said that morning, before Aziraphale quite had his eyes open. “C'mon. We only did it for those other bastards before. I want to do it again, properly this time.”

“And what does properly mean?” asked Aziraphale around a yawn. “We're already in a frightful amount of trouble. I don't see how much more you can get into just by looking like me.”

“Because I _want_ it, angel. Just for the day. Just for twelve hours,” he said, wheedling. Aziraphale knew that at some point, he was going to have to get back into the habit of saying no to Crowley, but it was hard, _so_ hard, after he had spent what felt like ages doing nothing but.

“Well, all right, but please. Don't-”

“I know, no selling off the books, no crumbs at the desk, no wanton acts of temptation that will result in lovesick humans throwing themselves at your door.”

“Well, let's not exaggerate,” Aziraphale sniffed. “And if the man from Manchester comes up with a package for me, please answer the door and take it from him. He'll go all the way back home if I don't take it from his hands, and I don't want that happening again.”

He offered his hand to Crowley, the sensation of swapping bodies came up like cold water swirled in with warm, cooling everything and changing it. When he looked up, it was to a smile that he wouldn't even have thought fit on his face, and a wink.

“See you this evening, angel. Don't scratch the paint.”

“Well, I don't think I would be the one to-”

Then he was talking to thin air, alone in Crowley's flat, wearing Crowley's body like something very expensive that he wasn't sure suited him at all. The weight was all different, the pelvis wanted to do something entirely other, and the slight alteration in height was enough to make him a little dizzy.

He had never been a huge fan of naps, but for a moment, Aziraphale contemplated sleeping it out until it was time to meet up with Crowley again. He had no idea what in the world he was going to do with this body when the forces of Hell weren't converging to drag him away.

Sleeping it out seemed like a fine idea until he remembered that he should at least tend to the plants in the solarium. For an otherwise careless thing, Crowley was particular about their maintenance, and he would likely be a little miffed if they went a day without attention.

Aziraphale never really paid much attention to Crowley's plants, but when he walked into the solarium, his eyes went half-lidded and a tension that he hadn't been aware that he was carrying dissolved. The solarium was brighter and warmer than the rest of the flat, and his tongue flickered out appreciatively at the moisture in the air.

Of course the plants were brilliantly lush and verdant, nearly trembling as he passed by, and he couldn't help nuzzling his face into one of the bromeliads with pleasure.

“What a lovely little Eden you are,” he murmured, stroking the long leaves of a snake (ha) plant. “Oh you should all be very proud of yourselves.”

He found the sprayer and a small container of blood meal and set about his work, humming a little as he did so. He and Crowley had been so busy with the business of Armageddon that there were a few spotty leaves to attend to, and he pinched them off with a murmured apology. Underneath his hands, the plants seemed to shiver a little, and he stroked their crowns in passing.

“You are doing a very fine job,” he said, and the plants seemed to stand a little taller.**

**That self-confidence was of course obliterated the next day when Crowley returned, but it was nice while it lasted.

Aziraphale found himself slightly grimy after tending the plants, but before he could miracle himself clean, it occurred to him to try a shower in Crowley's bathroom. The demon had gone on about it long enough, talking about rain shower heads and utterly perfect temperature control, and Aziraphale hadn't had a proper shower in...had he ever had one?

He stripped off his clothes, had that hellish little moment of trying to figure out someone else's shower, and then relaxed with a soft hiss of pleasure as the water came on with a smooth shushing sound. It rather was like rain, but the warmth of the water was, as Crowley declared, perfect, or at least perfect for him. Aziraphale could tell that the water was warmer than he would have preferred, but it made Crowley's body positively glow with pleasure.

_Oh, perhaps I should get one of these for the bookstore,_ he thought, but he dismissed the idea. Having a bathroom at all, he felt, would encourage the wrong sort***. He had actually had the primitive water closet at his Soho address torn out with extreme prejudice sometime back in 1903.

***Customers. Any of them.

He spent some measure of time in the shower and got out eager to find out what kind of linens Crowley might have to go with it. As he was drying himself off on towels embroidered with the discreet monogram for the Plaza Hotel in New York City, Aziraphale's hands slowed and he found himself examining Crowley's body more closely, his curiosity piqued by how very different it was from his own.

It was darker than his, which was not an accomplishment, and considerably leaner. He passed his hands down his chest to feel the skin prickle a little, and then looked more closely at his hands themselves, how long-fingered and elegant they were. He traced his fingertips over his skin, noting where the responses were stronger than his own and where weaker. It was information that would almost certainly come in handy at some point, and yes, smirking did feel very right with Crowley's face.

_What a good body it is. Just perfect,_ he marveled.

It was, too, from the roots of Crowley's hair down to the soles of his well-formed feet. Aziraphale took his time exploring it, twisting and turning to see himself at different angles. Curiously, he licked the back of his hand. He was disappointed that Crowley did not taste as he was accustomed to, but it was still interesting. There were absolutely some things his body was better for, Aziraphale decided.

There were scars too. Crowley was rougher with his earthly form than Aziraphale was, and some wounds were just easier to heal than to miracle away. The knees were in rather dismal shape, which made sense given how uncommitted the legs were to walking properly, and there was a large scar along Crowley's right hip that Aziraphale had never even noticed before.

_I shall have to have a word with him about being more careful. It doesn't do to be so careless with..._

He cut off the thought because it smacked of an imperiousness a proper angel wouldn't entertain. There was no reason to finish that thought with _something that belongs to me,_ because it most certainly didn't. He was just borrowing it for the day, and he realized he was liking the idea better and better.

Aziraphale smiled a little, warming at the thought, and briefly, he wrapped his arms around his body with pure affection. All thoughts of napping it out disappeared, and with a snap of his fingers, he was dressed again. They were and weren't Crowley's clothes. The jeans were a little looser, the coat now sported a fetching tartan collar and silk lining, and the shoes were lower in the heel.

On the street, he left the Bentley were it was, because he needed to move a bit faster than he was willing to drive through London traffic. There was a great deal to be done.

***

It was a day full of discoveries.

For example, how in the world did Crowley not know that one of his legs was shorter than the other? Aziraphale finally noticed when his right side seemed somehow tighter than his left, and after that, it was the work of a few moments for his favorite cobbler to diagnose and fix the issue with a heel insert.

It didn't change Crowley's stride, but Aziraphale thought that perhaps there would be fewer scars on his knees in the future. The cobbler threw in a pair of gel insoles for free, and Aziraphale reminded himself to pester Crowley about lower heels in the future.

_He's a snake, he should be more careful about his spine._ Aziraphale decided. _Heels are wretched for good orthopedic health._

After that, he walked himself down a busy thoroughfare, paying attention to what the scents made his head turn and his belly stir. Demons, like angels, didn't strictly need to eat, but a body came with some urges innate. One couldn't be an earthly thing without earthly appetites, or so Aziraphale had always believed.

He passed the Japanese restaurant that he might have stopped at in his own body, as well as the Indian restaurant he thought was a better bet. The classic greasy spoon diner was of no interest, and neither was the snobby coffee shop were Crowley's looks and dark sunglasses would have fit right in.

It was the Vietnamese restaurant that made Aziraphale stop. The door opened and the most delicious scent of caramelized pork and vividly fresh greens drew him inside without a second thought. The interior was dim and quiet for the middle of the day, and he perused the menu until the standard disinterested teen waiter came to check on him.  
“Oh my,” he said admiringly. “That limeade looks delicious, and I think that roast pork sandwich sounds amazing, and oh, you have lemongrass tofu, wonderful! Spring rolls, too, can't go wrong with those. And rice crepes, my goodness, _yes_...”

“What do you want?” asked the teen impatiently, and Aziraphale blinked at him.

“Oh, my dear, weren't you listening?”

***

Aziraphale liked Vietnamese food very much, but not, he knew, as much as Crowley did. Something in Crowley's body craved the dark char at the edge of the paper-thin pork slices, could put away spring rolls stuffed with shrimp, greens and cold noodles like no one's business. The salty, sweet and savory flavors rolled together in a way that was just perfect for Crowley's appetites. Aziraphale found himself with an urge to simply spoon the amber dipping sauce into his mouth, and he resisted until he remembered it was Crowley's body who wanted it. Then all guilt went out the window, only to inch back just a little when he caught the teen looking at him with a censorious expression on his face.

The meal was heavy enough that Aziraphale staggered a little when he rose, and that was when he realized that the sign over the counter was a touch blurry.

_Wait... is this body nearsighted? For all these years?_

He waited to make sure that it was not just the food stupor affecting his vision, and he realized that yes, things were a bit more blurry than they should be. How ridiculous that a powerful demon like Crowley went around squinting at things behind his fashionable sunglasses. Well, there was only one thing to be done about that.

Ever diligent, Aziraphale checked the clock. There were hours yet before he had to meet Crowley to get his own body back.

Good. It seemed as if there was plenty to do.

***

Aziraphale returned to his shop in Soho with the righteous glow of someone who had done a good day's work. He was an angel, so there was an actual glow, though he did try to keep it toned down so it wouldn't wake his neighbors.

He let himself into the shop with Crowley's key, looking around instinctively to make sure nothing was amiss. He saw that the package from the man in Manchester was waiting for him at his desk, but there was no sign at all of Crowley.

He started to call for him, but then his tongue flickered out (mind of its own, Aziraphale had observed), and he realized he could smell... well, himself.

_Oh. He really does know what I smell like._

The scent that said _Aziraphale_ also said _safe_ and _relief_ and _home_ and _mine_ , and Aziraphale smiled. It was still a slightly wrong smile to him, too much tooth overall, but the warmth that flooded his heart was perfectly familiar.

There was a bed in the loft, and Aziraphale climbed the winding stairs, thinking that perhaps Crowley was trying out napping in his body. It seemed like a Crowley thing to do, and it wasn't until Aziraphale got to the loft and had a good view of the bed that he realized that there were other Crowley things to do as well.

There was a brief moment of vertigo when he saw that it was his own body naked on the bed, sprawled as if it had been dropped there, limbs loose and easy in a way he almost never held them. He knew he was pale, but now he saw that his skin almost glowed against the plain sheets, red scratches on his chest only emphasizing his pallor.

His tongue flickered out to taste the air again, and the scent of his own body, now closer, was layered with sex and sweat and a more chemical tang that his brain helpfully identified as lubricant and silicone. Now that he looked closer, he could see some... toys... scattered on the floor, and he was distracted for a moment as he tried to sort them out.

_Oh... Oh, yes, all right, that is a... and the forked end is for... Goodness, what people won't come up with next._

He realized he must have made some noise, because Crowley's... his... Crowley's eyes flickered open. Crowley turned halfway on his side to look up at Aziraphale, apparently too worn out to rise further.

“Hello, angel,” he said, eyes at half-mast and a supremely pleased smile on his face. “Have you had a good day?”

“A busy one,” Aziraphale managed.

The correct and gentlemanly thing to do, of course, would have been to look Crowley in the eye, but he couldn't. His gaze kept drifting down his own body, examining the roundness of his shoulders and thighs, the weight of his belly and the light furze of hair that ran from down from his navel. He was, as he had recently said to himself in despair, _soft,_ but he couldn't even remember that despair now or why he had been so upset.

“My God, I'm _gorgeous_ ,” he said, and Crowley laughed softly.

“Oh yes. Why do you think I wanted to do this?”

“I don't know. I thought it likely had something to do with vandalism and the fact that they know your face a little too well in some parts of London.”

“No, though I'm keeping that idea for later. I wanted to have this all to myself, angel, just for a little while. This is... probably the least important part of you, but it's still important. Because it's yours. Because you're mine.”

Aziraphale drifted closer to the bed. He wondered in a vague way if he should be worried about that possessiveness and how easy it was for Crowley to split him into parts, but it just didn't seem important now. Not as important, anyway, as coming to kneel on the mattress and run a hand down Crowley's flank, curling it around his hip. This close, his nose was full of Crowley's scent which was really his own scent, and no wonder Crowley liked to sleep with his nose buried in the back of his neck. It threatened to drown him with how good it was, made him squirm more than a little, and then he had no choice but to lean down and sink his teeth into Crowley's shoulder.

“Oh no _wonder_ you do that,” he said enthralled.

“And no wonder you let me,” Crowley replied, a wondering expression on his face. “Do it again.”

Now he was stretched out full length next to Crowley, nuzzling him under the chin, trying to get as much of him as he could. It wasn't enough to bite at his skin, and it wasn't enough to wrap himself around Crowley's body.

For a brief moment, he could see where his own desires and that of the body he inhabited flowed together, mixed and merged, and then it became a ridiculous thing to wonder about at all, because it was all one thing, all part of a consuming need for the demon underneath him and at the same time for his own body as well.

_Vanity,_ thought a disapproving monitor in the back of his head, and Aziraphale tossed that voice straight into the sea. There was simply no space for it when he was in bed with Crowley. There was no place for anything but the two of them.

He rose up over Crowley, their bodies sliding back and forth over each other, faces close because how else in the world would they kiss? Crowley had learned plenty about making an effort in the last twelve hours, and though he hadn't thought of it, Aziraphale found Crowley's body to be remarkably user-friendly in that regard.

Aziraphale rolled them so that they were facing each other. It was a little more difficult when his limbs were too long and thin to get proper leverage, but he managed. He wrapped his arms around Crowley and found that this body had a very pleasant way of insinuating itself against the other, sliding and squirming until they were both panting. Crowley pressed his face against Aziraphale's throat, and Aziraphale's hand came up, at first to knot in Crowley's hair, but then he remembered at the last minute how much that hurt in his own body. Instead, he cupped the back of Crowley's head, holding him still even as his other hand came down to wrap as much as he could around their cocks.

It was too hot, awkward, clumsy and still somehow perfect, and Aziraphale thought he might burst to his component atoms when Crowley keened against him, trying to get more, thrusting his hips harder against Aziraphale's hand.

“Oh, good, that's _very_ good,” Aziraphale murmured. “Precious, so very precious to me...”

The noise that Crowley made was shaped oddly in his foreign throat, but it was so familiar that it sent a deep throbbing heat straight through Aziraphale's body. He knew what that noise meant, and he knew what he wanted when he heard it. Or when Crowley heard it. Something.

Of course, then there was nothing he could do but give it to him.

***

Aziraphale blinked, sitting up in his own body. It was like getting back into a wonderfully familiar set of pajamas, and he smiled, patting his own thigh as he might pat a friendly old dog. It was exactly the same of course, but he wondered if something had changed inside of him, made him look at it a little more fondly and with just an errant trace of the lust that Crowley held for it.

Beside him, Crowley stretched, grumbling with satisfaction.

“Tired, dear?”

“You have no idea, angel. You have some real endurance, but I... Well.”

“Had a lot of plans?”

“A _lot._ By the way, you can keep the toys. The purple one was the all-star.”

“Ah. Thank you. Are you spending the night?”

“Nah, can't. I've got things to do at my own place. You know. Contacts. Wiles.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, a little relieved to have some time to get to know his own body again.

Crowley got up from the bed, planting a chaste little kiss on Aziraphale's cheek, and with a snap of his fingers, he was in his own clothes again. He took a step, stumbled, and then stared at Aziraphale in betrayal.

“What in the name of Satan-”

“Bifocals,” Aziraphale said firmly. “You have needed them for years.”

 

 


End file.
